The Grey House
by littlewhiteowl
Summary: When Faith Meredith is posted to an insular rural village in 1917, she quickly discovers that soothing fevered brows is only part of her fate. Secrets, scandals, and all the usual scrapes. And then, of course, Jem comes back on leave...
1. Prologue: The Cross Of Grief

**Author****'****s Note**

There are a couple of things I wanted to say before I get started on this fic. First of all, I've taken a small liberty with the timescale. In _Rilla of Ingleside_ it's stated that Faith was sailing to England in the spring of 1917, two weeks after Vimy Ridge (April). I've brought her departure forward to two months earlier, for reasons which I hope will soon become apparent.

Secondly, this prologue is, as you may have gathered, not the beginning. I wanted to start in the middle of the story, because I'm unconventional ;-) I will be coming back to everything referred to in this chapter in the proper order.

I hope you enjoy reading, and don't forget to leave a review telling me what you think:)

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**The Grey House**

**Prologue**

**The Cross Of Grief**

There was a little golden stone cottage on Vinner's Hill which the villagers called The Grey House. It was a very unromantic name for a cottage that looked as though it ought to have fallen straight out of fairyland from a passing cloud, coming to rest neatly on the tree-scattered hill. Silver Castle or Elf's Haven would have been a better name, but it was no good trying to change tradition. A village was a village, no matter where in the world you were, and villagers were villagers.

One balmy August evening found Faith Meredith sitting on the step on the front patio, watching the sunlight dance on the river at the foot of the hill, and listening to the birds in Echo Wood. Or rather, she was appreciating the sunlight and the birds at the same time as she pored over a batch of letters which had arrived that morning.

It wasn't often Faith got to enjoy her letters in peace and quiet, especially at such a glorious time of day, and she was perfectly determined that nothing and nobody should disturb her little reverie until every word had been tasted and savoured. She saw Una's straight writing and Carl's familiar scrawl, and an address in a hand that looked very much like Nan Blythe's. Each one would contain exquisite words of comfort and familiar _homeness_, and Faith had practically pounced on the postman before breakfast that morning in her eagerness to read them.

Her first, instinctive action was to rummage through the pile in the faint hope that she would glimpse one very familiar style of writing that always made her heart speed up a little. It had been weeks since she had last had the thrill of seeing it, and her spirits sank a little more that morning when she did not spot it among all the other beloved hands. Would she ever see it again?

Faith gave herself a little shake. The day was so lovely and the determination of her brave little heart so great that she refused to give way. Sunny days were meant to be enjoyed, and every one of the letters she _did_ have in her hand would bring balm to her stricken soul.

She was halfway through Una's cheery epistle full of the Glen doings when something caught her eye at the bottom of the garden. A figure was striding up the cobbled lane from the village, wearing an expression on her face that Faith could make out only too well. Beside her she dragged a small boy, who was filthier than any child had a right to be and tugging desperately to free himself from the formidable grip of his captor.

Faith couldn't suppress a groan.

"Caroline!" she called. "We seem to have company!"

A tall, dark-haired girl with dancing eyes came bustling out of the kitchen door, drying her hands on a teatowel. She was absolutely covered in flour.

"Oh, what in heck have we done now?" she demanded, sorely.

"What _have_ you been doing?" asked Faith, eyeing the flour marks.

"Attempting to create a culinary masterpiece to take to the Big House tomorrow, but I fear you know me well enough to guess the rest. That's Mrs Hurst, unless my eyes deceive me."

"She has an unmistakable presence," agreed Faith, with dancing smile, "and she appears to be returning our small fugitive."

Caroline gave an unladylike snort and dusted her floury hands on her even more floury apron. "I bet you any money he's been rooting in her apple orchard again. Blast the boy - I've told him a hundred times!"

"All children should root around in apple orchards," Faith declared, dreamily. "It should be an essential part of growing up. I rooted in several when I was a little girl, and it did me the world of good."

"I heartily agree to the philosophy," said Caroline, "but I do object to being nagged by narrow-minded old women who seem to think one can keep a child on a leash like a dog. If only he'd try to behave once in a while."

She sounded so despairing that Faith laughed. Reluctantly she stowed her precious letters away in the pocket of her skirt and stood up, arranging a smile of beatific welcome on her face as Mrs Hurst strode towards them dragging the boy behind. She was a vast figure of a woman, with a loud, imposing voice and arms as strong as a man's.

"Well, you girls have certainly crossed the line this time!" she bellowed, angry spots of colour making her round face seem even more ruddy than usual. "You just wait until I tell Dr Stone about this!"

"Good morning, Mrs Hurst," said Faith, brightly. "Isn't it a lovely day? We were just about to make tea, will you join us?"

"Don't you flaunt your foreign manners at me, miss!" cried Mrs Hurst. "I've had enough of all your shenanigans, and I don't mind telling you so. I warned Dr Stone about you the very week you arrived, but clearly the man can't see what's happening under his nose! It's a disgrace, it really is!"

"Won't you tell us what the trouble is, Mrs Hurst?" suggested Faith, with a patience born of over a year of experience.

"First it was my petunias, ransacked by those revolting pigs of yours," Mrs Hurst went on, as if Faith hadn't spoken, "then you turned the village hall into a den of disgusting frivolity and destroyed years of respectable tradition. Now you let this little varmint run wild on my property until my chickens won't lay and my cats are terrified out of their wits. I've had enough if it, I tell you, and if you can't keep the little monster under control I shall move heaven and earth to get it taken away where it can do no more harm!"

The boy was still struggling wildly - a useless action, since Mrs Hurst could hold a grown man down with ease while she bullied him.

"Peter, stop it!" said Faith, taking him by the arms and pulling him towards her. "It's all right."

"All right!" blustered Mrs Hurst with indignation. "You haven't seen what he's done to my summer roses! It's worse than wild dogs."

"Thankyou for bringing him back, Mrs Hurst," said Caroline, with smooth politeness. "We're very sorry about your roses, but you must understand that we can't keep the child locked up."

"You should teach him some manners, that's what. Poking and messing about in my garden! And others, or so I'm told. What he's doing here I can't understand!"

"He's Emma Eastleigh's stepson," explained Faith, who knew that Mrs Hurst and all the village had been gossiping about this fact for weeks. "We're taking care of him for a few weeks while she's visiting her fiance in Paris."

Mrs Hurst made a disparaging sound. "That might well be so, but you girls seem to be making quite a collection of lost waifs up here. It isn't decent."

"If you're referring to Annie Morris - " Faith began, with rising temper. Next to her Caroline tensed and bit her tongue.

"I'm referring to nothing, young miss," said Mrs Hurst, "but mark my words your carryings on in this great house is nothing short of scandalous."

"Annie had nowhere else to go!" cried Faith. "Her aunt turned her out on the street and we took her in because she's a dear friend and she's been very unhappy. It's Christian charity to look after the unfortunate, Mrs Hurst, and perhaps you'd do well to remember it."

Mrs Hurst turned even redder. "How dare you, girl? Do you cast up my Christian character when you have done nothing but bring chaos to this village since you arrived? Living up here all along, three young girls, taking in little hussies that are no better than they should be, collecting stray children, and - " She narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at Faith. "And letting soldiers stay here - don't think you haven't been spotted. The whole village has seen them coming and going, and them not patients either! It's wickedness, is what it is!"

"If you're talking about my _brother_," stammered Faith, shaking with barely controlled fury.

"He's one of them, though I daresay it's better he's here to keep an eye on you than none at all. I meant the others - that Lieutenant that was here in the spring, for one."

For a moment Faith felt as though her wits had deserted her. The inference was clear as crystal, and the dig would have rankled at any time - but now, just when all her energies were being centred on just getting through every dreadful, awful day, this atrocious woman had to some and twist the knife in her side.

"Leave," Faith heard herself saying, as though from far, far away. "Now."

"I'm going, my girl, but you mind what I'm saying. I don't think any of you are completely bad, but there's no call for slack morals just because there's a war on. You behave yourselves, and remember that there are decent folk in this village."

It wasn't until Mrs Hurst's sprawling figure was halfway down the path that Faith realised she still held Peter in a firm grip. His knees were digging into her ribs and he had transferred most of the dirt that covered him onto her nice clean shirt.

"Faith, Faith," he entreated. "Play in the garden!"

Caroline intervened, taking the little thing from her with a masterful air and directing him into the house under the pretext of looking for biscuits. He tumbled in with a shriek of glee.

"Are you all right?" asked Caroline, patting Faith on the shoulder softly. "It was a wicked thing to say, and you mustn't pay her any mind. She's a poisonous old cat!"

Faith felt a sudden need to sit down, and only afterwards realised her legs must have given way beneath her. Arms went about her, keeping her upright and guiding her to the nearest bench on the patio, under a shady acer with viridian leaves. Voices spoke to each other - she couldn't hear what they said. Then someone thrust a glass of a pungent smelling spirit under her nose, and the world came slowly back into focus.

The first thing she became aware of was a familiar pair of dancing blue eyes and a steady smile.

"You all right, old girl?" asked Jerry, anxiously. "Don't scare me like that!"

"It was that old witch Anthea Hurst!" cried Caroline, crossly. "Oh, you just wait till I get hold of her. I'll give her a piece of my mind to feast upon!"

Faith looked down at her lap to where Jerry had taken her white hands in his strong ones, holding them with a firmness that helped bring her back to the moment. They clung onto her, as though they'd never let her go. She wouldn't float away into the depths of a dark abyss while he held them. He would keep her with him, and she wouldn't get lost in the dark again.

"I'm all right," she said, after a little while. "Really, I am."

Annie had come out too, she found when she looked up, and was standing close by with baby Lucy on her hip.

"Let me make you some tea, Faith," she said, kindly. "You've had a shock."

"I can't think why," said Faith, with a little laugh. "She didn't say anything that was shocking."

"Oh, I don't know," muttered Caroline, seething.

"No, really, I'm all right," Faith insisted.

They were all kind, all of them, and she loved each of them with all her soul, but she wanted to be alone. A gap had opened up in her heart which she had been trying for weeks to fill with other things - her work at the hospital, Annie and the baby, Peter, Jerry, and a hundred other tasks and distractions that helped her keep together. If she stopped, even if only for a moment, she would fall down, down, into that bottomless chasm of despair that yawned at her feet. She mustn't think about it. She mustn't. She had to keep going, for all of them. They depended on her so. One by one each of them had suffered, and they needed her to keep going for them. Jem had told her they did.

"Faith, if I - if I don't come back, you won't give up, will you?"

"Don't say things like that."

"No, I mean it. You wouldn't, would you? You mustn't, you know. There are so many people who need you, and you have to look after them. If I can't be here, you need to do the best you can without me."

"Jem, stop it!"

"No, I won't stop it. You know and I know that it could happen that way, and I need to know that if it does you'll be all right. Promise me!"

"How could I possibly be all right? Without you, it would - it - "

"Don't cry! I didn't mean to make you cry. Stop it at once, you know I can't stand it. Look at me, and tell me you'll be all right. Tell me you'll never give up!"

"I - I'll try not to. It would be like living a ghost-life, with only half of me walking around inside my body, but I will try."

Faith had cried herself out weeks ago, and there were no more tears left in her to shed. She smiled at Jerry and Caroline and Annie, and gently put their anxious arms away. They watched her go falteringly to the stairs, but they each knew not to stop her. She walked up, each step feeling like a marathon run, coming at last to an old oak door at the back of the house, whose windows opened out upon the loveliest panorama of English countryside Faith had ever seen.

But it was not the view she'd come for. Nor was it the rustic Edwardian architecture or furniture which had so charmed her they'd first come to The Grey House, with all its fascinating little nooks and crannies and explorable hideaways.

She closed the door behind her, and silence fell. Blissful silence. It was just her and the room, and all the memories it held. They flooded over her as she looked about her, at the Queen Anne nightstand, the great bed with its four posters, the delicate curtains at the window that blew gently in the breeze. She could smell lavender from the garden outside.

Faith walked slowly to the chest of drawers and opened the topmost one. It contained spare bedsheets and towels, but hidden away amongst them all was something else that no-one knew of, not even Caroline. Faith drew out the white shirt, still creased and crinkled from the last time he'd worn it. It felt soft to her touch, and his scent still lingered on it even after all these months.

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding it to her face and breathing - just breathing. It was so hard to even breathe these days.

He wasn't dead. He _wasn't_. Something in her just refused to believe it. He was out there somewhere, maybe battling for his life, fighting to stay alive long enough to come home to her. Everyone else had that lingering sense of doubt, but not her. If he was dead she would _know_. It wasn't fear of that which had kept her living on a knife's edge all these weeks - it was the agonising wait, the not knowing anything at all, not even where he might have been taken to.

"It's not too late," Caroline had said, the day after the news came. "He may still be found."

"I know. But - "

Caroline had taken both Faith's hands in hers and gave them a shake. "But _what? _If you believe he's alive, what else matters?"

"But I can't help him!" Faith had cried, choking on an uncontrollable sob. "There's nothing I can do! He's so far away, and I'm here, and there's a whole battleground out there that I can't cross and - and - I don't know where he is, or how hurt he is, and there's nothing I can do but sit here and wait! It's going to kill me!"

Caroline's response to that had been sharp and bracing - exactly what Faith had needed to pull herself together. She reminded her how far they had come since the day they met at the Red Cross Headquarters in London, in their very first week as VADs. They had battled Matrons and sat through operations and cared for bodies torn apart by shrapnel and gunfire. They had fought to belong in an insular community which had treated them as aliens when they first arrived, and had won more hearts than they could count since that day. They had laughed and cried and suffered together, and found many kindred spirits to share the days of waiting.

They had fought their own war in their little corner of England, and as Faith sat on the bed where Jem had slept she thought of what he had said at the very beginning:

"You're the bravest person I know, and you can do anything you put your mind to. I'm only as strong as _you_ make me, and I need you. Lots of people need you, so you have to keep on being brave, right to very end of everything."

The words cheered her, as they had been meant to. Faith wrapped them around her like a protective cocoon and straightened her back in renewed resolution.

"I will," she said to the empty room with fire in her eyes. "I _won't_ give up!"

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	2. Faith Meets Her Fate

Thanks for the reviews, folks! Having satisfied my urge to begin in the middle of the story with some tasty titbits of the things to come, here now is the beginning. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter One

**Faith Meredith Meets Her Fate**

**February 1917**

**1**

"The world is a very big place. No matter where we go or who we are, it's always bigger than we expect it to be."

John Meredith had said those words, sitting on the veranda at The Manse with the summer sunshine all about him. Honeysuckle climbed up the trellises, and somewhere Rosemary was singing just like the birds down in Rainbow Valley.

"I'll grow to fit it, Dad," Faith had said, determinedly. She had meant it too, and the words came out of her lips with such confidence and cheerfulness that she felt an aching pang when she remembered it.

Mr Meredith had just smiled his gentle smile, which she realised now was his way of hoping she was right but knowing with much greater wisdom than her own that it would be a long, hard journey.

_And it had only just begun._

Faith leaned her head back against the cushioned seat and gazed out of the carriage window. The English countryside was flying past as the train sped along, every inch of it covered in a thick blanket of fluffy snow that made it look very much like anywhere else. The early morning sunlight twinkled on the ice, and between the gently falling flakes there was an azure-blue sky smiling down at her - the same sky that watched over Glen St Mary, thousands of miles away over a heaving ocean; the same sky that watched over Jem and Jerry and Carl in their dark, frightening world.

_Funny how so many different things can exist all at the same time_, Faith found herself thinking, abstractedly. _Maybe that__'__s what Father meant. How funny I never thought about it before!_

She sighed, and pulled her thick blue coat closer around herself. Ever since the boat had docked at Southampton she had been trying to distract herself from the sensation of powerlessness that threatened to engulf her, but as the train clattered nearer to the great city of London she was starting to feel very small and insignificant and utterly, utterly incapable of what she had set out to do.

It had seemed like such a good idea three months earlier, when all of Kingsport - safe, untouched Kingsport - had been on fire with patriotism and a growing eagerness to 'do one's bit'. Lots of girls were doing it, although most of them were spoilt young society women from the College who had very little altruistic motive and much desire to soothe the fevered brows of handsome young officers.

Faith snorted aloud, startling the other occupants of the carriage, and she closed her eyes against the wave of infuriation that bubbled up inside her. Those girls' 'potential husbands' were dying every day, through lack of care as much as battle wounds. All the hospitals were overcrowded, and doctors were as precious as jewels and just as hard to come by. Competent nursing was what was required, and Faith meant to help give it.

Oh, how easy it had all seemed then!

And now here she was three months later, hastening towards her destination at an alarming speed: the Red Cross Headquarters in London. It seemed nightmarish, somehow, and all the way across the Atlantic she had relived moments from her training that only served to make her even more nervous. Blood had never made her faint, and she certainly wasn't afraid of hard work, but what awaited her now was oh so different from the civilised little town hospital in Kingsport! Scores of wounded soldiers arrived in England every day during the biggest battles, she'd heard, some of them not having seen a doctor since they fell on the battlefield. Many died on the way, and the rest, when they arrived, were thrust into dark, poorly staffed and even more poorly stocked city hospitals while they waited for treatment.

Faith felt her heart speed up, and tears pricked behind her eyes. She thought of Jem, and Jerry, and Carl, and railed inwardly against her own paltry effort at making a difference. If one of them were wounded she might not even get to see them, or they might be taken to Holland or western France to be looked after by total strangers.

_Stop it, _she told herself, very firmly. _This won__'__t do. You knew that you might not be able to help them if you came. You came to help whoever you could, and perhaps some poor woman somewhere will sleep soundly knowing that you are caring for her dear boy._

She'd told her father that when he tried to reason against her coming. Faith managed a very small smile at the memory - it had been one of the few occasions in her life when her father had ceded the right of the matter to her.

"That, my brave girl, is a very noble thought," he had said, taking her in his arms with eyes full of love and understanding. "And I'm proud of you."

The sun was higher now than when the train had started off from Southampton, and Faith could see the chimneys of London in the distance. She was almost there.

"Paddington!" bellowed the guard in the aisle outside her compartment. "Paddington Station in ten minutes! All change, please!"

The train burst through the archway into the station, screeching to a halt at the busy, smoky platform. Faith glanced out of the window and took a deep breath. She could smell the coal and fumes in the air.

_Well, this is it_, she thought, raising her chin in brave determination._This is where it all begins, in the big world I swore to fit into._

There was a guard at her elbow suddenly. The door was opened, like a drawbridge to a vast fortress, and Faith Meredith stepped down into the swirling smoke to meet her fate.

**2**

From the very first moment of her London life, Faith had barely half an hour to herself. She was driven straight to the Red Cross Headquarters from the station, and there was promptly pushed and pulled about by Matrons and orderlies before being herded with all the other girls who had come across on the boat with her into a high-vaulted room full of boxes and filing cabinets.

A sour-faced Sister with a crooked nose clapped her hands for silence. "Your first day begins tomorrow," she said, with an efficient firmness that bewarned strict rules and no nonsense. "You have been assigned shifts to work in the wards during your time here. When I have finished speaking you will come to the desk to register yourselves and be given your timetables. This is a general hospital," she added, with a very school-mistressy frown, "and we care for general patients here as well as military casualties. We will be starting you all off in the general wards this week, progressing to the others next week once we've hardened you all up a little."

A grim welcome indeed.

Faith cried herself to sleep that night in the poky little attic room she had been directed to, and woke up feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself the next morning.

"How silly," she said, as she stared at her face in the cracked old looking glass in her room. She had seen her reflection a hundred times before, but that morning it seemed wrong somehow. The same dark eyes gazed back at her; the same golden-brown curls fell about her shoulders; her eyebrows had the same quizzical expression they always did when she examined her looks - but she felt as though she barely knew this girl in the glass at all. Was it really the same girl who had danced under starry skies in the Quad at Redmond, dressed in all her finery and turning heads all the way to the pavilion? Had she really once laughed and played in Rainbow Valley and scandalised the Glen community with her impetuous spirit? Was this the girl who had been held in the arms of a College senior one magical evening and told how desperately he loved her?

Faith gulped back the urge to cry again as the memories flooded over her.Home had never seemed so far away.

"Oh, Jem, I wish you were here," she whispered, hugging her arms about her. "What would you tell me to do if you were here?"

Something inside her answered from an unknown spring of wisdom - instinct, telepathy, she knew not what. All that mattered was the sound of his voice in her head, accompanied, she could tell at once, by a characteristic snort of derision and a cocked eyebrow.

"Don't be an idiot, Faith, you know you can do it."

It was the brisk, practical response she needed - anything sentimental would have broken her down at once.

She tidied her hair and slipped on the neat uniform lying on the end of the bed and felt a good deal better. She would write home as soon as she could, and lose herself for a little while in all things Glennish and familiar. That would soon soothe everything over. Everything must have a beginning, and things were sure to become easier after a time….

The trouble was that 'everything' took up every waking moment from dawn until dusk, and there was just no time to sit and write letters. For three days Faith was kept so busy in the wards that collapsing into bed for some sleep before the next shift began became all she was capable of - but finally, on the third night, she found the urge for _homeness_ quite outweighed the need for rest. She needed to write.

**Dearest, darling Una,**

**I****'****ve arrived! Goodness, it seems a hundred years ago that I was back in Kingsport, but it can****'****t be more than a week. Oh, but so much has happened in that week that it could have been a lifetime! I****'****ve been so busy I hardly know whether I****'****m coming or going, and I****'****ve scarcely seen anything except the inside of the hospital and these dreary old hallways in the Nurses****'**** Home. I wish I could write some long, lingering description of London and the grand old buildings we used to learn about in school. Do you remember Mr Hazard telling us about the Tower, and all the kings and nobles who had their heads cut off there? I did see it yesterday, because Sister sent me out on an errand into the town. It****'****s all glowing turrets and there are green trees all around. It****'****s almost impossible to believe that people died horrible, lingering deaths there in years gone by. But I****'****m learning fast that there is much in the world that****'****s hard to believe, and all of it must be faced with a brave heart.**

**Oh dear, what a gloomy way to begin a letter. Forgive me, darling, and prepare yourself for Faith Meredith****'****s very first account of life in London!**

**The Red Cross Headquarters is quite a pretty little place, really - at least it would be if it weren****'****t for all the poor soldiers inside it. It****'****s hard to truly admire a piece of splendid architecture when you know that hundreds of boys are suffering so dreadfully in the wards. They****'****re marvellous men, though, and I can****'****t say that enough. Some of them are astonishingly cheery, despite everything, and we have some proper characters among them! I was so dreadfully nervous on my first morning that I knocked over a whole cabinet of linen and bandages, and didn****'****t Sister scold me? All the boys were laughing their heads off at me, but I didn****'****t mind a bit because it was so nice to see them smiling. **

**Oh, Una, there is so much more I could write about them and about the work we do here, but I****'****m so dreadfully afraid that my letters will make you unhappy if I say too much. I****'****m determined to keep cheerful, and I need you, little sister, to be cheerful too so write and tell me off if I ever become too gloomy! **

**Matron told us all that we would be in London for up to three weeks being trained up on the wards before being posted out into the country to one of the many general military hospitals. More and more are appearing every month, she said, because there just isn****'****t enough room for all the wounded in the cities. They try to evacuate as many as possible from the overstretched, overcrowded hospitals in France, so lots of big country houses are being requisitioned to take them. One day soon I****'****ll be at one of them - and oh, Una, I****'****m full of strange, muddling feelings about it. There****'****s part of me that feels frightened to death about going, but then a little voice somewhere inside me pops up and says, very strictly, ****"****Faith Meredith, pull yourself together, my girl, and remember why you came!****"**** You may laugh, but she****'****s quite right, that little voice. I don****'****t know where I****'****d be without her! I think of Jerry and Jem and Carl, and then it all comes flooding over me that if they weren****'****t afraid to come then I certainly shouldn****'****t be. My risk isn****'****t half so great as theirs. **

Faith paused at this point in her letter and chewed the end of her pen. She hadn't meant to become so philosophical. Poor Una would take one glance at it and be filled with anxiety for her, which was the last thing Faith wanted. The trouble was, the words just seemed to fall onto the page that way, as though her hand had a will of its own.

"Perhaps I'll write to Jerry first," she said to the empty room. "He won't worry, and it will get everything off my chest so I can write a good, cheery note to Una."

**Darling Jerry,**

**I****'****m writing from London at long last, in the snug little attic room I have on the top floor of the Nurse****'****s home. I say snug but I really mean cramped and stuffy. My window overlooks the courtyard where all the ambulances and army trucks park, and I can see all the comings and goings of everybody in the hospital. You****'****ve no idea how glad I am that I came, Jerry, but your little sister is feeling very sorry for herself tonight. I can****'****t imagine how much worse it must have been for you, but - **

A sudden noise outside her door made Faith jump and drop her pen in surprise. It was a soft tapping sound, as though someone was tentatively knocking on the other side. It was so unexpected at two o'clock in the morning that Faith took a moment or two to recover herself before groping for a dressing gown and padding across to open the door.

There was a golden-haired girl outside, swathed in a frilly nightdress and shawl. She looked up at the startled Faith with big, anxious eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to wake you," she whispered, urgently. "It's just that I think there's somebody downstairs. I heard the front door go, then a bang, and I'm sure somebody is in the stairwell. Oh, I didn't know what to do! It can't be one of us, because the gates were locked hours ago!"

Faith tried to process this jumbled mass of information. She vaguely recognised the girl - they'd waved to each other as they came and went for shifts in the hospital, and Faith remembered somebody calling her Mary. She had seemed to be a little shy and clumsy, but she had a sweet smile that made Faith disposed to like her at once.

"Have you been down to see who it is?" Faith asked.

Mary blushed. "No….I…didn't dare. Oh, you must think me so silly. It's just…" She paused, looking embarrassed. "I'm terrified of the dark, and this place is so strange I didn't…."

Faith put a hand on her arm. "It's all right," she said, with a friendly smile, wondering what on earth possessed a fragile little thing like this girl to become a military nurse. "We'll go down together. I expect it's just one of the porters checking the locks."

She lit a candle and they went to the stairs. It was a narrow, poky old staircase, full of mouse holes and utterly treacherous to climb in the dark.

"Do you suppose it's an intruder?" Mary whispered, anxiously.

"No, I don't think so. He would have had to get past the night porter at the gate."

They rounded a corner, and the light of the candle illuminated a huddled figure wrapped in a dark blue nurse's coat sitting on the lower steps. It jumped as the light fell on it.

Mary jumped as well. "Oh!" she exclaimed. Faith edged closer to get a better look.

It was a girl, with long black hair and sapphire eyes. She had an excellent nose and a fine, high forehead and elegant brows, and she would have been very pretty had her eyes not been quite so red and bloodshot. She looked very dusty and miserable sitting there in the darkness.

"Goodness! What's happened to you?" Faith exclaimed, astonished.

The girl sniffed and gave her a watery smile. "I got locked out. I tried to scramble through a little gap behind the storehouse, but I forgot about the drop." She massaged her ankle, wincing a little.

Faith smiled, kneeling down beside her. "Lucky the porter didn't catch you."

"Oh, him!" said the girl, with a snort. "He sleeps through his shift usually. I just didn't want Matron to see me clambering over the back way. Her rooms overlook the yard."

"Well, I don't think it's broken," Faith said, after peering at the ankle. "You'd better come up to my room and we'll bind it up somehow…"

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" said the girl, suddenly, grasping Faith's hand. "I really don't want to be thrown out."

"Certainly not. I wouldn't dream of it." The girl's face brightened in relief. "Come on, can you stand?"

Between them, Mary and Faith managed to get the transgressor up the stairs and safely deposited on Faith's bed. Mary cast an anxious glance down the corridor. "I'll just go to the end and make sure Matron didn't hear us," she said, and disappeared.

As Faith rummaged around in her case for something to bandage the ankle with, the wounded stranger related the tale of her night's escapade.

"I'd slipped out to see my brother," she explained. She seemed much more talkative for a friendly face to look at, and her red eyes were suddenly alive with a natural jolliness. "He's just started renting a flat in Kensington, and he's so unhappy at the moment I just had to go and see him. I hated being so near and unable to see him. I'm Caroline Heyer," she added, as an afterthought.

Faith shook the proffered hand, smiling. "Faith Meredith."

"Oh, that's a lovely name," Caroline said. "It reminds me of a lovely violet dusk and crystal-clear water and yellow roses."

Faith felt a rush of affection. What a lovely thing to say! She laughed - a clear, happy laugh that had been very much absent since she'd left Kingsport. "Yours makes me think of green fields and a roaring blue ocean."

Caroline's face broke into a lovely smile, and she threw her arms around Faith impulsively.

"Oh you dear thing! How strange that is, because I live in a tumbledown old house right on the edge of a cliffside overlooking the sea. The ocean is in my blood!"

She told Faith all about her village in Cornwall and how one can see for miles and miles across the sea, and how the winds howl around the house at night. The house was called Smuggler's Rest, and her family had lived in it for generations. Faith talked about her home too, letting herself get deliciously lost in describing the beautiful Glen, and Rainbow Valley, and Ingleside, and how the sun glints on the sea in the early morning, and how the pond becomes smoky-blue at dusk, and how cool the crystal water is in the Rainbow Valley spring.

A sudden wave of homesickness flooded over her after a little while, and Caroline reached out a squeezed her hand.

"Go on," she urged.

Faith found herself talking about Una and Jerry and Carl and all the Blythes. She couldn't quite bring herself to tell her of Jem, though. Some things are too sacred for words, even among kindred spirits, and she couldn't bear to speak of the thing that was the very cornerstone of her soul in a poky old room in a nurses' barracks.

But Caroline's eyes smiled back at her when she spoke his name, and Faith had the briefest vision of another day, in a far lovelier place, pouring her whole heart out to her new friend with the sun shining overhead and green, living things all around them. At that moment she didn't know if it was real or just pure imagination, but she hoped very much that it might one day come true. She hardly knew Caroline at all, but somehow Faith just knew she'd understand.

They talked for what seemed like hours, but it was scarcely more than twenty minutes when they reckoned afterwards.

"Oh, I'm going to be fit for nothing tomorrow," sighed Caroline, with a little yawn. "Serves me right for sneaking out, I suppose."

"Could you not have got a pass out to see your brother tonight?" asked Faith, curiously.

"I asked, but Sister told me nobody was allowed to leave the Headquarters for anything except official errands until Saturday night, the silly old bag. I just couldn't wait until then!"

Faith gave a little peal of laughter, and Caroline looked a little sheepish.

"I shouldn't have said that. Sister's all right really. Oh dear, I'm always saying things I shouldn't."

"I am too," said Faith, sympathetically. "My father always told me I ought to think before I did things. I never learned."

"I'm glad," said Caroline, studying her thoughtfully. "I'm afraid I'm far too forward. Mother used to tell me it would be my undoing, you know. I start talking and suddenly I can't stop!"

It seemed so long since someone had spoken to Faith in such a carefree, blithe way. She was so easy to chat to, this unusual girl, and she didn't bat an eyelid when Faith related the story of the time she and Walter Blythe had ridden pigs down the main street, and all the other scrapes she had got into as a little girl in the Glen.

Caroline burst out laughing, and said that she knew Faith was a kindred spirit the very moment she'd appeared at the top of the stairs.

"I knew you would be my guardian angel, Faith Meredith. And look how neatly you've bandaged up my ankle. Matron will never even notice it."

"Can you hobble on it?"

She gave it a try, limping around the room for a little while. "I'll survive," she pronounced.

"Would you like some cocoa?" Faith asked. "I'm gasping for something."

Caroline agreed heartily, and soon they were sitting on the bed with hot mugs. Caroline even produced a bag of mint humbugs from one of her pockets.

"You know, Matron would have a field day if she caught us now," she chuckled. "Midnight feasts! Giggling into the small hours! Scandalous!"

"Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest, as they say," Faith said, mischievously.

Caroline seemed to study her for a little while.

"I have had a sudden inspirational thought!" she announced, excitedly. "Why don't you come out for a little refreshment on Saturday night? I'm sure we could get passes. I know a nice little place down by the waterfront, and I can introduce you to some of my old college friends. What do you think?"

Faith matched Caroline's impish grin with her own. "I think it's a grand idea."

**3**

**…**

**And so, darling Una, I am to spend tomorrow night with Caroline, and I****'****m so excited about it I can hardly concentrate on my work. It****'****s so nice to have a friendly face here now that I can look out for. You****'****ve no idea how comforting it is!**

**Oh dear, I really must finish up this letter. I****'****ve used nearly all my ink! You will give Dad and Rosemary and Bruce my very special love, won****'****t you? I would have written to them as well tonight, but I****'****m so tired and my candle is nearly burnt away! Look after them for me, and yourself. I hate not knowing how everybody is, and I rely on you to tell me the honest truth. **

**Oh, pray for me, Una - I shall need every last tiny prayer you can spare me soon! But keep just as many for Jerry and Carl. They need them far more than me.**

**All the love in the world, dearest, and prepare yourself to hear much more of Caroline. I have a feeling that she will be figuring a great deal in my letters from now on!**

**Your loving sister,**

**Faith.**

* * *


	3. Faith Meets Sebastien

Thanks to all reviewers! I love reading your comments, and I'm thrilled that you're all enjoying it so far :) Here's Chapter Two - let me know what you think!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Faith Meets Sebastien**

**1**

The next day dawned in a lovely rosy sunrise. Having stifled her alarm clock with a pillow and tossed it under the bed, Faith stretched out luxuriously under the covers and gazed out of her little window. Warm sunlight was filtering through it, dancing on the floorboards and setting off the vase of flowers she'd picked for her desk like a picture poscard. How could she ever have despised her dear little room? Cramped? Poky? The very idea! It was an artist's garret in Paris, and she was a merry, bohemian painter who haunted the halls of Homer by day and played the piano in continental cafes by night under a bright moon.

The sound of stirring girls in the corridor outside her room may have introduced a more prosaic note to the start of the day, but Faith washed and dressed in blissful oblivion. She hummed to herself as she bustled about the room, tidying her golden-brown curls and smoothing her apron. Had any stranger been able to see her they would never have connected this brilliant, beautiful girl with the pale, anxious newcomer of the day before. She sparkled and glowed as she made her way across the courtyard to the wards beyond, and sparkled and glowed even more as the porter called her over to his desk.

"Miss Meredith! Letter for you, miss!"

"Thankyou," beamed Faith, taking the letter from him. That writing - she'd know it anywhere! It was and could only be the missive she had been aching for ever since leaving Kingsport.

The porter, a cheery, large sort of person with an excellent memory for names, watched her as she walked off with a skip in her step.

"That girl could break hearts," he chuckled to himself, in admiration. "What a looker!"

Faith felt her heartbeat speed up as she contemplated the envelope. Dare she read it now, and risk Sister's wrath for being five minutes late? Or should she tuck it away in her breast pocket for later and enjoy the day's work all the more for knowing that something wonderful awaited her at the end of it?

Caroline made up her mind for her.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, appearing from the direction of the canteen. Her black hair tumbled loose over her shoulders as she ran to greet Faith, who thought that she looked just like a picture of Circe that hung in the Classics library at Redmond.

"How's the ankle?" Faith asked with a grin.

Caroline's eyes glowed. "Oh, just wonderful thanks to you. Oh, Faith, I'm so pleased I sneaked out and sprained my ankle last night! Just think, if I'd been good and stayed in my room I might never have met you!"

"I'm very glad indeed that you sprained your ankle too," said Faith, taking her arm. They walked in together. "I feel as though I've been taken, turned inside out, washed and starched and put out on the line to dry!"

Caroline laughed. "You haven't forgotten that you promised to come and meet my chums in a day or two, have you?" she asked, earnestly.

"Of course not! I'm looking forward to it."

"Well, how about doing it tonight? If I wheedle and wheedle Sister might let us have a pass each. I was absolutely splendid in the ward yesterday, and came away feeling just like Florence Nightingale. Do you think she might let us have time off for good behaviour? Although I heard from one of the girls that she's in a frightful temper this morning. Did you hear about that new nurse who gave the wrong injection to some poor woman in the general ward? Matron nearly had a fit, and she's been given her marching orders - isn't it dreadful?"

Faith thought it was. Oh, wouldn't it be awful if she turned out not to be good enough and they sent her home too? The idea made a little flutter of fear present itself in the region of her stomach, but it was almost instantly quenched by the prospect of an evening in Caroline's lively company, and a few incandescent moments reading her precious letter from Jem.

A little warm patch grew in place of the fluttering, and Faith felt like bursting into song.

They had reached the hospital now, and the parting of the ways.

"What time are you finished tonight?" Caroline asked her, eagerly.

"I'll be done by six, providing Sister doesn't find me any extra things to do afterwards."

"Righto. I'm off at five and I need to pop off and pick up some odds and ends. Sebastien is a typical man and subsists on toast and marmalade when I'm not there to make him something, so you can imagine what his larder looks like. I must restock for him, but then I'm all yours, providing Sister comes through with the passes, that is!"

"I'm sure she will," said Faith. "She's an old gorgon on duty but she seems a nice old thing really. I'll be on my sugary-best behaviour all day and see what I can do. I'll meet you at half past six outside the chemist on Miller Street."

Caroline beamed. "It's a date!"

**2**

The day wore on, and Faith survived the rigorous jobs Sister set her in the ward by thinking about the pleasant evening ahead of her. She made beds, carried trays, and watched the doctors' treatments, her mind all the while on a far different subject.

"Are you paying attention, Meredith?" barked Sister MacCordle, pausing in her instructions on how to properly stitch up minor injuries.

"Oh, yes, Sister," said Faith, hurriedly.

Sister gave her a suspicious look. "You're away with the fairies again, girl. Here, you finish it and show me what you can do."

Fortunately Faith had picked up enough at the training centre in Kingsport to manage perfectly well, and she was pleased when Sister MacCordle pursed her lips and said "Mmm," - the closest she ever came to praise.

"Right, Meredith, you can get off now if you like. Be here early tomorrow morning - we've got a lot of new patients arriving from France and I need all the hands I can get to make room for them."

It was with a singing heart that Faith made her way across the courtyard to the Nurses' Home. The evening was hers now, and soon she would be enjoying Caroline's company and relaxing again.

To crown her hour of happiness, a batch of letters to add to the one still nestling unread in her pocket was waiting for her at the porter's desk as she passed it on her way out. There was a jolly note from Jerry telling her that he was in fine form and enjoying a couple of days away from the Front Line. He had seen Jem briefly the previous week, and he was, according to Jerry, _'__quite happy and fit as a flea__'_

And so, filled with the sublime knowledge that Jem had asked Jerry to convey to her the fact that he loved her more than the whole world, Faith was utterly incapable of taking the joyous smile from her face as she made her way to meet Caroline at Miller Street. Dark rain clouds were gathering, but what did she care for showers? It could thunder all it liked, but she was walking in a wonderland of fragrant flowers and warm sunshine!

She was a little early arriving at Miller Street, and so she decided at once to take up a vantage point on a bench in the little park across the way to wait for Caroline. Jem's letter was still to be read, and she could bear the suspense no more.

From Lt. James Blythe, 13th Royal Highlanders.

To Miss Faith Meredith, R.C. Headquarters, London.

_To __my__ Faith,_

_I love being able to write that. You have no idea how much. It__'__s hard to believe that you__'__re actually here, so close to me. I reckon that if we both started walking towards a mid-point, (that__'__s figuring without the giant mass of very deep water that lies between us, that is), we__'__d be together within a day. That__'__s an incentive for desertion if ever there was one, but I suppose I oughtn__'__t to write that. Let__'__s hope the censor is an understanding personality!_

_I think you__'__re the dearest, bravest thing in the world for doing this, you know. I know how much guts it must have taken for you to enrol, but at the same time I__'__m not exactly surprised. It__'__s just like you to come to the aid of human beings in trouble, no matter what kind of ridiculous self-sacrifice it takes. The world needs more girls like you, Faith, who really care, and who aren__'__t afraid. When you told me what you meant to do I said to myself - __"__Typical! She never could resist a cry for help.__"__ Then I worried about what you were getting into, and I wanted to write at once and order you to stay at home where you__'__d be safe and not to come gallivanting halfway across the world to slave away in a dirty hospital with all the horrors therein. Then I understood all of a sudden why I didn__'__t need to worry. You understood what you were doing, and you knew the risks. I didn__'__t need to warn you about them or try to dissuade you. Even if I had you wouldn__'__t have respected me for it, and you certainly wouldn__'__t have listened! I shan__'__t dissuade you, loveliest of Faiths. I shall thank God every waking moment for you and your unyielding, bull-headed, aggravating, obstinate, wonderful determination, and I shall kiss you once every day for the rest of our lives for being so splendid._

_I__'__m glad to hear that you__'__ve found someone of the Race of Joseph in amongst all the budding Florence Nightingales you loathe so much! Caroline sounds like a scream, and one day you__'__ll have to introduce us. I hope she livens things up for you a little, if that__'__s possible. I don__'__t like to think of my girl getting despondant when everyone relies on her perkiness to raise their spirits, including me! You__'__d better look after yourself, that__'__s all I can say. And don__'__t forget me while you tenderly care for handsome soldiers who are bound to fall madly in love with you. Write a big sign and pin it to your apron, telling them that you__'__re spoken for! Next time I get leave I shall come and find you. Even if I have to beat my C.O. over the head with a stick until he lets me come._

_Write soon, my love. Your letters make me feel like singing, and embarrassing as that would be should I ever completely lose control of myself, the sensation is more wonderful than I can say!_

_I love you. Don__'__t forget it._

_Jem._

Faith thrilled as she tenderly put the letter back in its envelope, pausing to press it to her lips. How many other girls had sweethearts who could write such wonderful words to them? Jem had never been particularly romantic in the usual kind of way. He didn't recite poetry by moonlight or compare her eyes to burnished gold, and he most certainly never behaved like a brave knight to her gentle damsel. Faith wrinkled her nose and smiled at the thought of Jem in a silver helmet, clasping her wan, weeping form to him while he brandished his sword in the face of a hidden enemy. Her smile became a giant snort of laughter, which drew a most startled glance from a passing lady and gentleman on the pavement.

Faith hastily composed herself, but continued to chuckle. If Jem was even the type to behave like a Byronic hero he wouldn't dare to do it with her.

"Don't be such a blithering ass, Faith!" he'd once said to her when, in a moment of weakness for which she'd never forgiven herself, she had burst into tears over a bad mark in an essay.

"You could at least _try_ to be sympathetic!" she had sobbed.

"You don't deserve it. Stop crying immediately. It's only a mark, after all!"

"It's _not _only a mark. It's _dreadful! _I shouldn't be here, I'm not good enough. I should just go home and go back to being a teacher!"

"Like hell you should."

"Don't swear, Jem."

"You drive me to it. For heaven's sake, you're an intelligent, sophisticated woman! In ten minutes you're going to kick yourself for this exhibition, and you'll break my arm if I start doling out maudlin charm. Come here and pull yourself together."

She'd fought him off as he'd predicted she would, but it wasn't many seconds before she was nestling in his arms and forcing him to promise never to mention that particular half an hour ever again. He never did.

Lost in her dreamy recollections Faith hardly noticed the rain start to come down. Caught without an umbrella, she had no choice but to make a dash for the porch at the top of the chemist's steps.

Quarter of an hour later Faith was feeling very cold and disgruntled. She thought she'd much rather be tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and a good book.

Just then a green car pulled up on the road close by, coming to a halt with a loud screech of the brakes that made Faith jump. The man driving it looked up at her blankly.

"Beg your pardon," he said, with a curious half-smile that didn't look quite real.

The face under the cap he wore was of a handsome young man in his late twenties, with a very fine nose and dark brown, almost black, hair, but the eyes he turned to Faith were dim and foggy like an old man's. His voice was sharp, but it would have been pleasant if his tone wasn't quite so surly.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Faith asked, kindly.

"My sister," he tersely replied. "Always late."

Faith was about to enquire further when she heard footsteps splashing along the pavement. Caroline was running towards them, also umbrella-less and looking very bedraggled.

"Oh, so sorry again, Sebastien," she exclaimed, breathlessly. "Have you been here long?"

"Just arrived," said the man.

Faith stared in surprise. So this was Caroline's brother!

"Oh, Faith, what an afternoon!" Caroline sighed. "I'm soaked to the skin, and you are too, just look at you! Get in, for goodness' sake."

They climbed into the back seat, and Sebastien started up the engine with a roar.

"Phew!" said Caroline, pulling off the soggy hat. "I feel half-drowned! Gosh, I think this old thing has seen better days!" She stuffed the hat into her bag and turned a gay smile to Faith. "This is my brother, in case you hadn't guessed it. Sebastien, say hello to Faith."

Faith glanced at the brooding figure, his surly eyes fixed on the road ahead. He nodded to her.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Heyer," said Faith.

He wasn't very talkative, she thought, trying to remember what Caroline had told her about him. She'd said he was unhappy…

"Don't mind Sebastien," said Caroline. "He's just cross because I phoned him up and got him to come and pick us up. I thought it might be jolly to have dinner at the flat, what do you say? I don't think I can face trawling round London in all this nasty rain. Do you mind frightfully?"

"Not in the least," said Faith, happily. Caroline beamed in relief.

"Hoorah. I'm sure the gang is out and about somewhere, but you can meet them another time I'm sure."

"What are they all like?" asked Faith. She was dying of curiosity about Caroline's friends.

"Eccentric mavericks," replied Caroline, with a cheeky grin. "No, not really. They're all artists, mostly, with one or two musicians and writers. They're Sebastien's crowd really, although I did go to college with one or two of them. I just tag along, when I'm not writing my scribbles."

Faith pounced on this new piece of information. "What sort of scribbles?"

Caroline's pretty eyes shone eagerly. "I've always wanted to be a first-class journalist for a great newspaper. Does that sound terribly wicked?"

Faith laughed at her serious expression. "No, why should it?"

"Oh, Mother has the archaic notion that women should be teachers or nurses or seamstresses, if they have to have a career at all. She thinks journalism too aggressive for a young lady." Caroline rolled her eyes.

"But if it's what you really want...?"

"I should fight the urge. Not that I did, of course! I've never had a proper job on a newspaper, but I write little snippets for various ladies' journals and things, when I'm not barging around with Sebastien, that is."

"What is it you do, Mr Heyer?" asked Faith, turning to the man with interest.

He looked a little startled at being addressed, and he cleared his throat rather nervously. "I'm a painter," he said.

"Really? That's wonderful! What do you paint?"

"Portraits, mostly."

"Sebastien's absolutely terrific," declared Caroline, proudly. "He's even exhibited at the Louvre."

Faith watched Sebastien's face carefully in the mirror as Caroline chattered on about his gallery on the waterfront, and all the exciting artistic people she'd met through him, noting the sudden flicker of emotion that had effused his melancholy face.

If he was an artist, he was obviously very passionate and creative. Despite their cloudiness, his eyes told her that deep within him there were ideas and philosophies clamouring to get out - to be expressed in paint or words or song - but that they just _couldn__'__t_. Why, she couldn't tell. Perhaps he, like Walter Blythe who had been just the same, had been affected by something dark and ugly which had stifled his passion. But Walter, Faith remembered with a pang of not-quite-sated grief, had not been stifled. Beauty had lived on in him right up until the end of his life, and he had died full of it. That, if nothing else, had comforted them all when the dreadful news had come.

Sebastien Heyer was an enigmatic man, that much was clear. Faith wondered if she'd ever know what had happened to him.

"Here we are!" cried Caroline, as the car drew up outside a tall, thin house of white stone in the middle of a pretty crescent terrace. A small, fenced-in garden with lush lawns and rosebeds sat in the middle of the arc-shaped road, watched over by gnarled oaks and delicate cherries.

"Don't get too excited," Caroline added with a laugh, seeing Faith's jaw drop in awe, "we only have the top two floors. Mrs Belmont lives below in the lower apartment. She's an absolute sweetie, isn't she, Sebastien?"

Her brother murmured what was probably an affirmative.

"I hope you don't mind roast pork," Caroline was saying, leading the way up the carefully scrubbed steps to the front door of number six. A big brass doorknocker completed the neat, ordered picture, and Faith was reminded of some of the wealthier houses on Spofford Avenue back in Kingsport. Obviously the whole terrace had once been a series of townhouses before being converted into more economical apartments, but the handsome Victorianesque flavour still remained as though the darkness of war had never touched it.

"It's a quaint little place, isn't it?" said Caroline.

"It's quite beautiful," breathed Faith, impressed. "You're so lucky to live here!"

"Not for much longer. Soon I'll be in a cramped old field hospital with no nice furniture and dreadful night shifts."

They climbed the wide carpeted staircase up to the second floor, then Caroline drew Faith inside a well-lit, spacious living room with large windows overlooking the garden in the crescent.

"Oh, my goodness!"

"Do you like it?"

"It's gorgeous!"

The furnishings were few and simple, but everything had been cleverly arranged to make the room appear far more opulent and inviting than the bare bones would have done. Once upon a time it must have been the grand drawing room of a Victorian household, with gilt mirrors and chandeliers, and a butler waiting in the corner ready to do his master's bidding.

"Sebastien did the paintings," said Caroline, pointing to a large watercolour over the mantelpiece. It was of a neat little garden and white bench in front of a aged stone wall. The workmanship was excellent, Faith discovered, as she wandered over to look more closely.

"Where is it?" she asked, curiously.

"That's our house in Cornwall," replied Caroline, stripping off her damp coat and hat and holding her hand out to take Faith's. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"It must be summer here," said Faith, her eye falling on the burgeoning magnolia bush beside the bench.

Caroline smiled pensively. "Do you know, Sebastien painted that before the war while we were spending the summer down there. The whole family was over that year, even my grandparents and cousins from Norfolk." Her eyes went out of focus as she recalled a time much beloved. "It was the best summer I believe I've ever lived."

Faith stood in curious silence until Caroline shook herself and gave her another broad smile.

"Well, what must you think of me?" she said. "Shall I get the kettle on? You poor thing, you look about as wet as a mermaid! Sebastien, could you see to the fire while I pop upstairs to make us some tea?"

The man nodded, shedding his jacket and cap on the couch before approaching the fireplace, avoiding Faith's eyes. Whether he was just shy or averse to her company Faith could not tell, but her natural inquisitiveness prompted her to speak to him as soon as Caroline had disappeared.

"I wish I could paint," she said, amicably. "I've never been very good at drawing."

"Takes practice," shrugged Sebastien.

"Did you ever take lessons?"

He shook his dark head. "Just sort of picked it up, I suppose."

"You're very gifted," said Faith, pausing to look up at the magnificent painting again. "Even if your sister hadn't told me that it was a glorious summer, I would still have been able to tell. You've captured the real _feeling_."

Sebastien said nothing, his blank eyes hidden by long lashes. Faith stood quietly beside him watching his deft hands complete their task. They were artists' hands, long-fingered and careful, tanned an attractive golden brown like his forearms and face.

Faith wondered how true her guess was that he had been at the Front, like Walter. She had seen no sign of injury yet, although he had walked upstairs behind her and Caroline so she had not properly seen yet how he moved. He could be on leave, she supposed, but then surely he would be wearing his army uniform.

He straightened, holding out his hands to warm them against the growing flames.

"Summers aren't the same any more," he said, expressionlessly.

"Was that one _so_ beautiful?" asked Faith, gesturing to the painting.

"Caroline seemed to think so. Summers are always wonderful times. Things come alive, and life is a beautiful thing. At least, it was."

"The war has changed everything," agreed Faith. "But at least we've tasted the cup of happiness in the past. It must be better to have once known a good thing and have it disappear, rather than to live life never having known it."

Sebastien's shoulders moved in another sardonic shrug, his eyes still fixed on the flames. Then he turned to look into her face.

"Do you know, everybody else always says that after the war things will go back to the way they were. I've never believed it."

Faith stared back at him. She felt unaccountably pleased to have moved him to speech. "No, I don't suppose the world will ever be the way it was before. Isn't that what we're fighting for? To make the world better and safer?"

Sebastien snorted. "They say that, but who's to know? What if we lose?"

"It's in God's hands."

"Oh, you believe in God, then?"

"My father's a Minister. I see God at work all the time."

"Hang around a while," suggested Sebastien, bitterly. "Maybe you'll change your mind when you've seen what happens to the soldiers over in Flanders."

A lesser woman would have drawn back at his sharp voice, but Faith was not one to be easily intimidated. She frowned.

"I imagine you've seen it."

"A fair amount, yes. It's bloody awful."

"Yes, I suppose it is. I've only ever read about it, but I do believe you."

"Lucky you."

Up until that point Faith had been feeling a quiet sort of sympathy for this brooding man and his troubles, but that last remark made a flame of irritation flare up inside her. She folded her arms and fixed him with an indignant stare. "I suppose you would think it overly heroic if I said that if I had been born a man, I should have gone too?"

"Most silly women say that, but they don't mean it. It's far easier to say such things when you sit comfortably at home waiting for the storm to pass, than if you actually have to make the decision on pain of your honour."

Faith glared. "I'm not a silly woman."

Sebastien glanced at her, studying her with his blank eyes. "No, I don't believe you are." He watched her a moment longer in silence, until Faith's stalwart façade started to slip a little under his scrutiny. "Why did you come out here?"

"I came to help."

"Really? You didn't come to wipe fevered brows and comfort dying men with your sweet beauty?"

"No."

Sebastien smiled - almost. His mouth remained motionless, but a sudden wave of warmth drifted over his haunted eyes. "I believe you," he said, gently.

Faith was very pleased when the door swung open and Caroline came in, bearing a tray of tea. This strange, world-weary man confused her. Walter, so like him in many ways, had never confused her.

"Oh, you've got acquainted," Caroline said, gladly. She came over and placed the tray on the coffee table near the fireplace. "I'm so pleased."

"I was just complimenting your brother on his gift," said Faith, pointing to the painting. "I'm very envious."

"Oh, so am I. I'm afraid I'm utterly devoid of any interesting abilities whatsoever." She laughed lightheartedly. "But as Sebastien will tell you, I absolutely _sponge_ off his wonderful connections and the praise people give him."

"Did you really exhibit at the Louvre?" Faith asked Sebastien.

Sebastien had not taken his eyes off her since Caroline had come in, and now he sat down on the seat nearest the French windows, studying her as blankly as before. Faith refused to be made to feel uncomfortable, and matched him stare for stare. He leaned forward on his knees and lit a cigarette.

"The year before the war," he replied.

"_'__Goddess Chain__'_, the series was called," added Caroline. "An instant hit with the masses. You're the type that appreciates art, aren't you, Faith? I could tell straightaway."

"Oh, yes! I love words and pictures and beautiful things. I'd love to see some more of your work some time, Mr Heyer."

"Sebastien," said Sebastien, blandly.

"I know!" cried Caroline. "Why don't you and I take Faith to the gallery the next afternoon we have off? Would you like that, Faith?"

"Oh, I would!" said Faith, eagerly. "Would that really be all right?"

"Of course it would. We might introduce Faith to some of the set, Sebastien. She'd get on like a house on fire with Daniel, I'm sure. And Griselda! Oh, she's a _scream_, Faith. You _must_ meet _her_. Wait until you hear about the time she got stuck on the roof at St. Julian's - she tells it to absolutely _everybody_."

Faith found herself laughing at Caroline's expressive italics. She began to feel as though she had embarked on a grand adventure, like one of the great heroines of literature and fairytale.

"When is your next afternoon off-duty?" Caroline asked her.

"Monday, I think."

"Excellent! That fits in beautifully with my shifts too. What do you think, Sebastien? Can we gather the tribe for a little soirée?"

"I expect so," said Sebastien. "I shall be at the gallery tomorrow, so I'll make a point of enquiring."

"How exciting!" cried Caroline, clapping her hands and spilling quite a quantity of tea into her saucer. "Oh, I haven't been this cheerful since I started training. You're doing me good, Faith of the Glen!"

Faith laughed as she hadn't laughed for many months - wholeheartedly and sincerely, from the bottom of her merry little heart.

**3**

From Miss Faith Meredith, R.C. Headquarters, London.

To Lt. James Blythe, 13th Royal Highlanders.

_Darling Jem,_

_You__'__re ridiculous, do you know that? As if I should ever forget you, no matter how many handsome soldiers come into my ward! As for writing a sign, I shall stand up on Sister__'__s desk and shout it out for everybody to hear if I have to! _

_You know, Rosemary tried desperately to talk me out of coming when I told her what I meant to do. Una went pale and said she wished she were as brave as me. Dad looked very sad and solemn and told me that the world is always bigger than we imagine it to be. But nothing anybody said meant as much to me as what __you__ said. That I have your complete confidence makes me __know__ I can do this - and there have been times, I confess, when I__'__ve felt like jacking it in and going home - and I think I would be crying into my pillow every night if I didn__'__t have your letter ro read over. It half makes me want to run across the Channel and over the German lines to where you__'__re camped and throw myself, sobbing, into your arms, and half to stand up tall and go and show those silly society women a thing or two about courage! When I think of the reasons why they are here I want to scream. I know I__'__ve ranted about this many, many times before, and I promise I shan__'__t in this letter - I shall only say how grateful I am that I__'__m not a silly society girl. I don__'__t think I__'__d have been a very good one, if Father had been a baronet and Mother a countess. Imagine the daughter of a baronet wearing no stockings to church! Oh dear - I__'__m so glad I__'__m a country minister__'__s daughter, even if it means that I can__'__t dance in public. But I think I shall be gladder still to be a surgeon__'__s wife._

_I haven__'__t told you yet how my evening at Caroline and Sebastien__'__s flat went, have I? Well, it was wonderfully jolly. I__'__m starting to think that Caroline is petrified about being posted when we__'__re finished here at Headquarters, but she said that she would be able to bear anything as long as I was there to keep her cheerful. Wasn__'__t that a lovely thing to say? I can__'__t imagine what she means, because most of the time I feel dreadfully apprehensive about it myself, and I__'__m sure I__'__m not _that_ good at hiding my feelings. But you__'__d like her - I__'__m sure of that. I don__'__t quite know what to make of her brother. He__'__s quiet and contemplative and I can tell he__'__s troubled about something. I__'__m almost positive that he has been at the Front, which might explain why. I__'__m going for dinner again tomorrow, so perhaps I shall find out more about him._

_I have to stop writing, darling. I__'__m on duty at six and it__'__s already half-past five. This evening I have to help remake all the beds, which is terribly annoying since Evelyn Carter has no idea how to fold corners, and I__'__m always put with her. Oh dear - to think I__'__ve reached the point when I worry about folding corners! Una would be proud of me, I think!_

_Take care of yourself, darling, and write back soon. I always feel like singing too, but it__'__s less embarrassing for me because I can do it in the bath when nobody can hear. At least I hope they can__'__t!_

_I love you too. Madly._

_Your very own Faith._

**4**

The bright sunshine which had appeared out of nowhere in the dark February sky lasted for the rest of the week, and Faith found herself feeling almost at home.

She and Caroline had got into the habit of meeting in the canteen for breakfast and lunch - the only real time they got to see each other away from the wards, where they worked their shifts in different places. The table in the corner next to the window was their favourite, through which they could see all the goings on on the street outside.

On Tuesday Faith, having been woken up early by the noise of ambulances drawing up in the courtyard outside her room, was reading her latest batch of letters while she drank her tea and waited for Caroline.

Jerry sounded cheerful, despite the ankle-deep mud he complained of, and the cold, driving rain that made the night-watch almost unbearable.

_I usually cheer myself up by remembering all the things we used to do as children, _he wrote. _Remember the Good Conduct Club? And the times we used to have fried fish in Rainbow Valley on that little board? When we get back after all this is over, let__'__s do that again. _

Faith was very pleased that he'd said when and not if.

_I shan__'__t get leave until the situation over here has been sorted out. I can__'__t say much - if I did, the censor would have it out in a jot. You__'__ll know where I am if you look at the papers. The last I saw of them, the censors haven__'__t got started on them yet, although it__'__s just a matter of time. Things could hot up here quite soon, and nobody is sure quite when or in what way. They might move us out, we don__'__t know. Don__'__t worry, though. If we can survive the bloody freezing weather out here we can survive anything! _

Faith had a vague idea what he was talking about. The 3rd Toronto were near Vimy Ridge, where several painfully drawn-out battles had taken place in recent weeks between German artillery and the Allies.

Preferring not to dwell too much on the possibility of Jerry getting mixed up in that, she opened the next letter. It was from Nan, who was at Kingsport with Di doing Red Cross work between studying for finals. It was a nice, newsy epistle, full of the doings of their mutual friends at Redmond, and updates on all the latest scandals.

_I have the distinct impression that Tom Patterson has his greedy little eyes on my sister_. _I shall have a thing or two to say to him next time he pops up here. Did you know that he__'__s joined up? Got a lieutenant__'__s commission, I believe, and I__'__ve heard rumours that he only did it to impress Di. Shocking, isn__'__t it? Although, on a more serious note, I don__'__t think I__'__d like to live with the knowledge that some boy had gone off to war just to make me notice him. It would be rather a responsibility, don__'__t you think? _

"A million miles away, Miss Faith?" said a voice.

Faith looked up to see the clear, sapphire eyes of Caroline smiling down at her. She set her cup of tea down on the table and slid into the chair opposite.

"Just some letters."

"From home?"

"And one from my brother Jerry."

Caroline took a healthy gulp of tea. "What does he have to say?"

Faith gave her a brief summary of the letter, omitting the parts which were meant to give her special, brotherly comfort. She couldn't share those with anybody - not even Una.

"Did you have any today?" Faith asked.

Caroline nodded. "One from Mother. Just a report, you know."

"Are you close to her?"

"Fairly. She likes me to tell her how Sebastien is, since he never bothers to write to her himself." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I wish he'd go down there, actually. He'd be far better off, instead of sitting here watching the world fall slowly to pieces."

"Will he go when you're posted?"

"Perhaps, but I doubt it. He'd consider it running away. For a romantic, poetic artist he's remarkably stubborn. That's what comes of being a man, I suppose."

Faith smiled. She was quickly learning that Caroline had a streak of opinionated obstinacy to rival even her own.

"He seems very unhappy about the war," she ventured.

"Yes, he is," Caroline said, wistfully. "It's ruined him, you know.He was so full of ambition and life and passion for all kinds of things, especially his art. Then he went off to fight in this silly war, and he's never been the same since. Mother always said it would kill his spirit."

So Faith had been right all along. She sat up a little straighter and tried not to look too desperately curious. "Was he wounded?"

"Yes, at Verdun. He absolutely refuses to wear his casualty blues. He says if anybody accuses him of being a shirker they can go to hell." She blushed at once and looked guilty. "Oh dear - I suppose I shouldn't have repeated that."

"It's all right," said Faith, with a laugh. "I've heard worse in my time."

"And you a minister's daughter!" said Caroline, with mock horror. Her eyes twinkled. "It's so lovely to be able to be myself when I'm with you. I always feel as though everybody else is always judging me."

She spoke lightheartedly, but Faith knew that it bothered her exceedingly. She could understand, although public opinion had never bothered her. She remembered all the scandal and trouble she and Jerry and Carl and Una had caused their father when they were children. It had never bothered them what people thought, but for their father's sake they had attempted to control themselves.

"I like you very much," Faith assured her, firmly. "I don't know where I would have been this past few days without you."

Caroline smiled - a sincere, pleased smile that lit up her face.

"I'm sure you're just saying that to be nice."

"No, I'm not. I really, truthfully mean it."

Faith watched Caroline carefully as she blushed happily and dropped her eyes. It had been growing on her for some days now, ever since their first meeting - Sebastien was not the only one with something curious lurking behind the façade.

"Tell me about Sebastien," Faith suggested, gently.

Caroline took a deep breath. "He was badly shot in the leg during a charge at Verdun. They carted him off to a casualty clearing station but the wound must have got infected somehow. In the end they had to amputate."

"Amputate?"

"Yes. From the knee down his right leg is aluminium, that's why he can't go back to the Front - thank God," she added, with relief.

"I had no idea!" exclaimed Faith in surprise.

"It's quite clever, isn't it?" said Caroline, cheerfully. "He'd have hated it if he was stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life."

"Is that why he's so unhappy?"

"Partly, but that's not the half of it. The experience alone very nearly destroyed every last happy thought in him. He was always so sensitive when we were children, and he's never really grown out of it. I think he really dreaded going out there, not because he was _afraid_, mind," Caroline emphasised, "but because he hated the idea of never being able to forget the horrors he was bound to see out there."

_Just like Walter_, thought Faith, with a pang.

"He hasn't painted a thing since he came back," Caroline went on, regretfully. "He hasn't really spoken about it at all, that's what's so awful. He doesn't confide in me, and I can't help him. It breaks my heart to see him so lost."

"He'll find his spirit again," said Faith, softly. "Beauty is always around, even in such times as these."

Caroline tossed her dark hair back and laughed her rich laugh.

"You always make me feel as though I could do _anything_, Faith Meredith!" she cried. "Life is never hopeless with you, is it?"

Faith raised her chin and dimpled. "I refuse to worry about things that might never happen. Sometimes, these days, I can't quite always manage it - but I do try. I try very hard."

"I think," said Caroline, slowly and thoughtfully, "that Jem Blythe has quite a treasure in you, my girl."

Faith blushed rosy pink and dropped her eyes. Oh, the mere sound of his name made her heart quicken as though she'd just run a race! With an aching feeling in her stomach she wondered how long it would be before he could get leave. He'd _promised_ to come to her, and she would hold out for that moment if it took her all the energy she possessed.


End file.
